


protect and serve

by solar_celeste



Series: whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Human shield, Protectiveness, Whumptober 2019, bruces dad and dick dad, but shhhh, its the 5th now, no.4, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solar_celeste/pseuds/solar_celeste
Summary: Day #4 of Whumptober: Human ShieldDads will always be there to protect their kids, sometimes they just might come in different shapes and sizes.





	protect and serve

**Author's Note:**

> Happy day 4 y’all. This one was super fun and I’m sure not at all what you guys were expecting from me after the first two. 
> 
> Keep your dads close everyone, if you’ve got one make the best of it, because having that opportunity is all you can ever ask for.

When Bruce was small, he had always believed that his dad was invincible. During the weekends, Thomas Wayne always made sure that he prioritized time for his family. He would take them to specially planned outings at the park or the zoo, surprise them with a fancy dinner or with tickets to the theatre. 

During the week, he would be up before Bruce even began to stir, fastening his tie and pulling on his shoes before heading to work. There, he not only ran the company but also worked as a doctor himself, researching and working to do his best to provide for and assist his patients and clients in the best way he could. He was always home for dinner though, sitting in the head chair at end and enjoying the meal with his family. Bruce had always ogled at him then, eyes shining wide and bright. 

He had wished for his moment to sit in that chair all too soon.

There were more times than Bruce could count where he had been nervous or frightened and had turned to his father for comfort. Moments when he would believe that he saw shadows lingering in dark corners or people gathered too close at an elite event. He would grip onto his father's coat then, knuckles tight and whitened from the pressure. He would inch, slowly in hopes that Thomas might not take any notice, behind the man for protection. His own personal human shield.

They had just come out of the theatre, the salty taste of popcorn still lingered on his tongue, his lips dry from the dehydrating substance. They were all laughing at something that Bruce had said, a joke about the film they had just seen;  _ Zorro.  _

His mother's laugh was bubbly and light, so full of love and joy. She was always so soft and gentle with everything that she did, carrying an elegance about her that many people admired and wished to have themselves.

His father's laugh on the other hand, was deep and rumbled as he breathed. He seemed a giant to Bruce at the time, standing so tall and firm. His arms seemed so large compared to Bruce’s own and the boy didn’t understand how there was even a chance of him ever growing to be the same. 

It was dark out, a time of night that usually terrified Bruce but he was distracted, too joyous and laughing too hard to allow for any fear.

Until they turned into  _ that  _ alley.

He wasn’t sure if his father had been trying to take a shortcut or if the mighty Thomas Wayne has gotten lost in his own city or had perhaps been just as caught up as Bruce and didn’t realize where he was turning, but somewhere along the way they found themselves in the ‘not so good’ section of town. 

There was a line lost that flickered and illuminated the puddle beneath it. The ladder of a fire escape swung on rusted hinges. 

There were footsteps, shouting and demands for money, for everything they had and owned to be handed over. Thomas promised, already moving to remove his Rolex if only they would spare his family and please, please not bring any harm to his still so young son. 

Bruce didn’t even have the chance to hide behind his father before the gunfire. Before the sound of pearls landing in puddles and rolling along the concrete. Before the world ended.

***

When Richard Grayson was small, he used to think his dad to be invisible. The man would always prioritize family first, even if the show and his performance was a close second. 

From the time Dick could walk, he was being taught a copious amount of tricks on the trapeze and, by his fifth birthday, he was performing in shows.  _ The Flying Graysons _ were pasted everywhere, on posters and flyers, the side of train cars, billboards and in newspaper adds. His family was the main act. 

His mother had always been the glue to their family, holding them together in both heart and mind even when they felt as if the stress was too much. But even when shows got rough or ticket sales were low, his father never showed stress. Not when they were cornered by angry drunks who yelled insults and racial slurs. He just squared his lean shoulders and stepped forward, maneuvering himself so he stood between Dick and the scene before him, shielding the child from sight. 

His father was a hero. 

The trapeze has been in full swing, a new set had been prepped by his father and the family had practiced it for weeks on end, perfecting it before the Gotham show.

There were colors everywhere. Everything was extravagant and over the top, red and blue and gold streamers waving in the wind, multicolored snow cones with a thousand different flavors, the scent of freshly popped corn wafting through the tents. 

There were peanuts everywhere, shells littering the ground and half empty barrels in the most random and of spots. There were people everywhere, moving and bustling about, hurrying, always hurrying. The sand in the ring had been perfectly smoother before the show but now, after everything, it was muddled and stirred. 

Plastic cups and trash littered the ground and used straws where bent in half. Trash barrels overflowed, not large enough to container the mass amounts of garage produced by an even larger crowd.

The memory of cheers and applause echoed off the fabric of the tent walls but it died as time passed. 

Instead there was ringing. 

Ringing so loud that every other sound felt nearly silent on the boy’s ears. He paid no attention to anything other than the gruesome sight in front of him. There were hands on his arms, people attempting in vain to tear him away from all that was ever important to him. All that he ever had. 

Why hadn’t they used a safety net?

The sand had once been ran but has quickly turned as crimson as the liquid being spilled across it. Blood, thick and oozing from the spots where bone had snapped and now protruded from flesh. Necks broken, hearts stopped and a little bit left all alone. All because of a grudge and cut trapeze line. 

Why hadn’t they been using a safety net?

Dick wasn’t sure, didn’t think that he would ever be sure. For now, he wrapped his small arms around the broken bodies of his most loved parents, stretching them as far as they could go. He didn’t plan on leaving, hadn’t at least until he felt a heavy weight dropped on his shoulders.

It took him a moment to realize the weight came from a thick sports jacket, the owner standing not far off. The man's eyes were soft and kind, understanding in a way that was both welcoming and confusing. How could someone ever understand Dicks pain? How could someone ever know what he was feeling in that so very traumatic moment? They couldn’t, he didn’t think so at least. It was impossible, no one else could ever be in that much pain. 

Still this man looked so familiar. There was something about him that Dick nearly recognized. An aura aliens him that was so painstakingly inciting it wa slide than diffuse not

to up and run into the strangers arms. A kindness in his eyes Dick wanted to pursue. He looked like he could help and, even more importantly, like he  _ wanted  _ to help. 

After a moment more of sitting wrapped around his parents’ quickly cooling bodies and feeling the right of the coat against his back, Dick decided he wanted the man's help. He stood, shaking hands gripping the top corner of the jacket so it wouldn’t slide off and walked the short distance to where the man stood, out of the way of all of the chaos. 

The man smiled, friendly and not through his lips but with his eyes. It was a silent ‘ _ okay’  _ for Dick to continue.

“Bruce Wayne.” Was all the man said, sticking his hand out straight for a shake. A simple introduction was all, no lie about everything being okay or Dick being safe. No ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. It surprised Richard, sure, but the absence of such a pitiful phrase relieved him.

Bruce set a comforting hand on the boy’s thin shoulder before maneuvering himself so he stood between Dick and the horrid scene before him, shielding the child from the sight. He then waved a nearby officer over to help, someone to situate Dick. The officers name tag read ‘ _ Gordon’. _

It was then, in that moment of pure kindness, that Dick realized what seemed so familiar about this mystery man, about  _ Bruce. _

The man reminded him of his  _ dad. _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism are my coffee :) 
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @solar_celeste 
> 
> ... instead of writing my handle I typed my name..... whoops


End file.
